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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455437">Forever Yours, Apollo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambrose_writes/pseuds/ambrose_writes'>ambrose_writes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, dont think this will stop the romance, enjolras is a prince and grantaire lives in the forest, its more likely than you think, okay, royalty au???? in this fandom???</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:54:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambrose_writes/pseuds/ambrose_writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing, Enjolras reflects absently, about waking up on your wedding day is that one is inclined to feel a little odd. And furthermore, he thinks, the thing about ceilings is that one always recognises their own, and this is definitely not his.</p><p>-</p><p>A companion fic for my other fic, To My Dearest Love, all Enjolras pov</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Forever Yours, Apollo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The thing, Enjolras reflects absently, about waking up on your wedding day is that one is inclined to feel a little odd. And furthermore, he thinks, the thing about ceilings is that one always recognises their own, and this is definitely not his.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing, Enjolras reflects absently, about waking up on your wedding day is that one is inclined to feel a little odd. And furthermore, he thinks, the thing about ceilings is that one always recognises their own, and this is definitely not his.</p><p>Which, once the thought has processed completely, is the thing which leads him to sit up rather sharply and end up smaking head first into a distinctly person shaped mass.</p><p>This, if you were to ask Enjolras, which no one ever does, is not his ideal start to the day.</p><p>-</p><p>For this story to be understood in its entirely, the reader must be aware of a few things.</p><p>Enjolras was a prince by birth, and the expectation of him was that, on the dawn of his eighteenth birthday he was to marry.</p><p>Having been engaged to someone of perfectly suitable standing his entire life, he iss due to wed, move to a nice castle somewhere removed and cause no more trouble to anyone.</p><p>Although, what is a story without a little trouble?</p><p>The reader should also be aware that Enjolras had, for reasons beyond his comprehension, never been allowed to stray beyond the castle grounds and had lived a quiet, lonely life.</p><p>He most definitely does not recognise where he had woken up.</p><p>-</p><p>The man who he had crashed directly into only moments previously is rubbing his head and muttering, eyebrows furrowed as he gazes down at wear Enjolras is lying.</p><p>"What the fuck." He says, with a little more volume than is strictly necessary.</p><p>This, thinks Enjolras, sums things up quite nicely.</p><p>"I don't believe we've met."</p><p>"No, seriously, what the everloving fuck?" The stranger hisses, ignoring his proffered hand, "Oh my god."</p><p>"I am Prince Enjolras," Enjolras says, "it is very nice to meet you." Because in situations like this, someone has to be at least vaguely normal.</p><p>The stranger seems to be having slight difficulty breathing, "Prince- Oh my god."</p><p>"What is your name?" He asks, "if you don't mind my asking."</p><p>"Grantaire." Then, quietly, "oh my god."</p><p>He turns away, still muttering, and Enjolras thinks that if circumstances were more normal he would have liked to get to know him, before becoming aware of a sharp pain in his head and thinking it might be quite nice to lie down again.</p><p>-</p><p>When he comes to, the stranger, Grantaire, is pouring over some books on the table in the corner, and Enjolras has, at some point been moved to the bed.</p><p>It’s a nice bed, the sheets are clean and rough, and the sun through the open window is warming his feet.</p><p>The view through the window is not one he recognises, which leads to two conclusions.</p><p>One: he is simply dreaming, and will wake up soon enough in his own bed, ready to marry the Duke of somewhere he can't quite remember, and will soon forget the odd house and its inhabitant.</p><p>Or, two: this is not a dream, and he really has managed to wake up somewhere different from where he had gone to sleep, this option is, as he considers his pounding headache ruefully, looking the more likely of the two.</p><p>Which of course begs the question, how had he got here?</p><p>Sitting as quietly as possible he tries to take in his surroundings. The room is sparsely furnished yet cosy- a bed, table and stove are almost all the furniture, yet they fill the space well enough. The ceiling is hung low and thick with dried plants and herbs, and the table and stone floor are piled high with books. His feet make little noise on the cool stone, and he is suddenly aware that he had been stolen away in only a nightshirt- with not even boots for his feet.</p><p>Grantaire starts briefly when he spots him standing lost at the windowsill, he stands stiffly from the place he has been among the books and plants. "Good morning, Sire." He whispers, gently breaking the silence.</p><p>"Enjolras, please."</p><p>"If you're sure?" A nod. "Then, how did you sleep, Enjolras?"</p><p>"Well, thank you Grantaire," he feels his brow crease, "I am afraid I am at a loss to how I arrived here. I was in my bed one minute- then the next-" gesturing around with one hand, he lets the other curl nervously in his shirt.</p><p>"I'm not sure either," Grntaire grins crookedly, "that's what I'm working on." </p><p>The copper kettle on the stove begins to whistle loudly, and he grins even wider. "Breakfast?"</p><p>Enjolras's hand uncurls slowly, "If you wouldn't mind?"</p><p>-</p><p>The thing about living your whole life in a castle, is that when it comes down to things like cooking, one is pretty much guaranteed to be completely clueless, and so Enjolras is left to set the little wooden table with the bowls and plates he finds stacked on a windowsill and admire the colour the sunlight makes on the walls as it streams in through the dust.</p><p>The smell of the warm food is tantalising and when it’s placed on the plate in front of him and his cup is filled with a steaming drink he thinks to himself that he has never felt more at home- even here, lost and with a stranger at the breakfast table, Enjolras feels safer than he ever has.</p><p>That is perhaps something to think properly on another time, so he picks up the slightly dented fork beside his plate and starts folding the bacon and eggs into pieces he can realistically eat.</p><p>The issue, he finds, with good food and kind company, is that one is inclined to forget their manners; the speed at which he eats is, quite frankly, alarming- and when he takes a moment to breath he chances a glance upwards, only to find Grantaire eyeing him strangely.</p><p>He swallows with some difficulty and feels himself flushing red, “I am- I am sorry, it’s been a long night and I am inclined to forget my manners,” he sets his fork down and looks off to one side, “do forgive me.” he can feel his hands twisting in the fine fabric of his shirt.</p><p>Grantaire just looks at him for a beat more. “Would you like some more to eat?”</p><p>“I-" this turn of events is highly unexpected, "Yes please.”</p><p>Later, Enjolras washes the dishes and Grantaire tidies floor space for a makeshift bed, the sun is high above the earth and the sky is blue and clear. The birds sing quietly on the branches surrounding the cottage and Enjolras can imagine a life like this would be a very pleasant one indeed.</p><p>-</p><p>"We need to talk." Are the first words out of Grantaire's mouth when he finishes setting up across the room.</p><p>Enjolras swallows, a crease forming between his brows as he nods and turns to face him.</p><p>"There is no denying that this situation is very odd, after all- you did quite literally appear out of thin air, and, well, I'm not used to royalty in even the most ordinary of circumstances."</p><p>Enjolras nods along, "You must understand the circumstances are odd for me to." Grantaire snorts.</p><p>"Yeah, no shit."</p><p>"But, I wish for us to treat it as ordinarily as possible. I have a life to get back to, and I'm sure you do too. Let's treat this as nothing more than a meeting between friends. I shall be gone soon enough."</p><p>It's Grantaire's turn to nod, "In the meantime, I'm sure you need something more than a nightshirt if you're to come and help me with the traps."</p><p>Seeming to consider the conversation over, Grantaire turns to the chest in the corner and throws a smile back over his shoulder as he opens it.</p><p>-</p><p>Enjolras remains politely confused throughout the course of Grantaire's efforts to find something that will vaguely fit. Of course- the concept itself isn't foreign, he has been fitted for clothes before, but by a seamstress who didn't laugh and poke and throw the cloth that didn't fit away in a haphazard pile.</p><p>The thing that confuses him most is just how joly Grantaire is- it's been no more than a few hours since they met, and the little words they have exchanged have been necessities at best. Yet he continues to laugh and chatter away like they've been close friends their whole lives.</p><p>Although, the concept of friends and friendship is also rather new to Enjolras- the servants weren't there to be spoken to, and he had no mother who was around long enough to bear more siblings- it is, in part, why he is so bewildered by Grantaire's kindness.</p><p>Finally, two shirts and some trousers are located that will fit him- if not well, then acceptably. The trousers are rather long and large at the waist band, but that is easily fixed by clever folding and a belt, the shirts to are roomy, but stay on with sleeves pushed up.</p><p>Boots are a different matter entirely.</p><p>Enjolras's feet are rather smaller than Grantaire's, and when he tries a boot for scale it slips right off- something that is met by a booming laugh from Grantaire and the promise to find something somewhere.</p><p>"In the meantime," Grantaire says, "bare feet will serve well on the forest paths, I will teach you the traps another day- it is no matter."</p><p>Enjolras watches with something close to fascination as he pulls his socks off and unlatches the door, opening it with great ceremony and letting in the sun.</p><p>"It's a fresh morning to be sure," he grins, "but not one that will chill the uncloaked wanderer, come on," he gestures Enjolras to follow as he steps out, "bring the basket by the door."</p><p>Enjolras nods decisively and picks the basket up, following Grantaire out the door and forward into the greeness of the outside.</p><p>The colour is nearly blinding, the only place beyond the palace walls he was allowed was the formal gardens. There the colours were muted and contained- to be viewed from a grey path and regarded as status rather than life.</p><p>This is the opposite, and as he spins slowly he takes it all in- the glossy leaves, the dark ivy round red door, the blue sky and birdsong, loud and bright.</p><p>There are other things to notice- the faint sound of running water, the tang of dew and the earthy scent of decay, the way the grass feels beneath his bare feet- damp and springy and quiet unlike anything he's used to.</p><p>The odd look is back on Grantaire's face when he turns to him, grinning broadly and with laughter bubbling deep inside him. "It's so-" he searches for the words, struggling to articulate the emotions he feels, "It's so… free"</p><p>"And you haven't even seen the best bit," Grantaire says, "follow me."</p><p>Enjolras is more than happy to oblige.</p><p>-</p><p>The woods are bright even under the dense canopy- the ground full of plants and thick with green, the sky a distant shining blue. Enjolras walks slowly through down the well worn track, following Grantaire while his mind is firmly elsewhere.</p><p>He thinks of the palace garden and its neat and tidy paths; the marble floors of his childhood haunts; the cool touch of the statues and books he pretended were his friends- he tries not to think of other things.</p><p>The way his father felt- distant and removed; the mother he knows nothing of, not even a name; the servents he could not talk to, who would not look him in the eye; but most of all, he does not think of the aching loneliness he has felt for so long.</p><p>Not on this fine day, not by the little stream beneath the ancient trees. Not when Grantaire is passing him plants and pointing out birds as they watch from the trees.</p><p>"The red is what to watch out for," Grantaire is saying, "The ones you want are similar, but brown instead."</p><p>Enjolras nods, "Brown, not red."</p><p>"Exactly." Grantaire smiles down at him, "I must check the traps. Stay here, and try to fill the basket." Without another word he turns and disappears into the forest, leaving Enjolras to scour the ground for mushrooms and plants matching the ones within his basket.</p><p>He finds a bush with some berries growing, blue and purple at once in the dappled light. He recognises them, from where he cannot say, but he pulls a leaf from the bush and folds a few inside. Perhaps if Grantaire knows if they are edible they might be nice for a meal.</p><p>He likes these ideas, although they are a little startling, of friends and a future beyond what had been set down for him. Of course, the palace and his marriage are things of great importance, and he must return soon. But for now he is content to forget his duties and wonder how he came to be in the little cottage with its friendly keeper.</p><p>Grantaire returns soon enough, and finds him with the full basket and his feet in the stream, the water flowing about his ankles and shining silver in the light. A half woven band of grass and flowers sits in his hands- technique pulled from blurred memories of a half rememberd childhood.</p><p>Enjolras places it among his curls as he stands to face Grantaire. The rabbits and pheasant slung over his shoulder promising good food when they return to the house.</p><p>"You look good with a crown." Grantaire says.</p><p>And Enjolras just smiles- small and impossibly sad.</p><p>-</p><p>Later, when dinner's been eaten and plans have been made for the new day, Enjolras lies in Grantaire's bed, cocooned in the rough sheets, and listens to his breathing. The house is dark and quiet, and Enjolras falls asleep softly to the sound of night creatures and distant water.</p><p>He does not dream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i think we can forgive enj for being a little 👁👄👁 in this chapter- he has just been thrown across the country and doesn't know whats going on.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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